IP: 71.15.85.230
Posted on March 22, 2018 at 04:12:31 AM by Mazikeen
For summer’s wrath the night’s breath was chilly as the wraith slunk beneath the fog. Tiny pure crystals lingered within her ivory bodice as she winked in and out of sight, a demon on the prowl. Pink tongue kisses her lips as she slinks deeper into the forest, narrowed eyes intent on her prey as it comes into view. It is a den. Very simple in construction but that is not what held the vagabond’s attention. It is the heavy weight of metal upon the air that lures her like a fish to bait. For several weeks now she has stalked the distorted form of a wolf. She has fed this wench, and watched her grow fat off of her spoils. And now the fated day as arrived and she was beside herself with anticipation. Silently she approaches the wide inky entrance. Her paws dancing within the yawning mouth as she tries desperately to calm her tremulous heart. Her blood roars in her ears and she is moist with yearning as she descends into the earth on near perfect stealthy paws. Soft mewling is met with gentle coos as mother soothes her young. The flaxen whore is relaxed having linked Mazikeen’s scent with food, she mistakenly thinks her friend. ”They are gorgeous.” Her voice is a lovely alto, silky and lilting as they dance between the two wolves. She moves closer, staring the wheat draped lady in her emerald optics. Perhaps she would spare them the night…perhaps she wouldn’t. Just the fact that their lives depended on her was absolutely thrilling! ”How are you?” The question is airy as she settles down closer to the pups. There are three of them. Each varying shades of earth and gold. Without hesitation she dips her muzzle to reposition one of them, the smallest girl, as she had been moved. ”Now that’s a good girl.” Giving the pup a good licking she begins to hum to herself. It is a sweet tune, one a mother would to her newborns. Much like this mother should be had she a tongue. Pieces of fur comes off into Mazikeen’s mouth yet she does not stop her cleaning. Oh no, instead she drags her tongue harder…and harder across the flesh of the pup. A growl bubbling forth like a fountain of blood before pouring from her mouth. Stupid pup. It should have stayed with the others. Fangs flash for but a second as she rips into the carcass, shredding it, punishing it for being what it was: dead. Yet she did not stop there, reeling she whirls upon the others, enraged by their accusing empty glares. Snarling her rage she eviscerates the golden dame, pulling out her entrails piece by piece. She digs into the carcass, burrowing within it until she is covered in gore, baptized in blood. It is there she stays until morning, warm and comfortable. Only then did she leave the den, the perfume of death flavoring the dawn air. Emerging from the burrow with her new red blond coat she stretches, a content sigh leaving her lips. Where should she go now? Perfectly rounded derriere kisses the dew strewn earth as she raises her head to the light, letting it wash her sins away. Last night was perfect but now it was time to hunt.  |
Replies:
- finder's keepers, loser's weepers - By eto. March 22, 2018 at 04:25:35 AM
Slit my throat Save my life - By Mazikeen March 22, 2018 at 05:09:17 AM
finder's keepers, loser's weepers - By eto. March 26, 2018 at 03:29:35 AM
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